Falling Star
by KaileeWaterfeld
Summary: Arwen Undomiel lives the normal, modern life of an average seventeen year old girl. She sneaks out at night, argues with her mum and stays over at her best friend's house when she isn't supposed to. But one night is all it takes to change everything, and Arwen is thrown head first into a land where the rules of normal and modern do not apply, and nothing is quite what it seems.
1. Chapter 1 Chequers

Chapter 1- Chequers

"Someone's following me."

"What?! Arwen - come on, you're being crazy-"

"- Listen to me Tom! I wouldn't be saying this if I didn't believe it." Her voice was calm, steady, reasonable, not betraying the pounding of her heart and sweating of her palms.

Tom sounded defeated when he spoke, although she could tell he didn't believe her.

"Okay. Where are you?"

Arwen looked around at the graffitied toilet stalls, grimy sinks and chipped mirrors. Her reflection stared back at her, blue eyes wide and frightened, brown hair slightly dishevelled in its fashionably messy bun. She sighed.

"Chequers. In the ladies loo," she said at last.

"What?!" Tom exclaimed. She could almost picture him slapping his forehead dramatically. "You're crazy, Ar, you know that, right? Stay where you are, I'm driving over."

She let loose the breath she'd been holding.

"Thanks Tom."

She heard the beep as he hung up, leaving her staring at the mirror, phone pressed to her ear.

The stall banged open, making Arwen jump out of her skin, as a heavily pierced girl with a streak of cobalt blue in her hair emerged, giving Arwen's relatively chaste club-going attire an unimpressed once-over before turning to the mirror and applying a fresh new layer of blue lipstick. Raising her eyebrows, Arwen grabbed her leather bag off the floor and shoved the door open, walking back into the club where the strobe lights pulsed erratically, lighting up the crowded dance floor so that everyone's movements were jerky and robotic.

The pounding bass, the music, the senseless yelling all were contributing to the biggest headache Arwen had yet to experience - and that was saying something, considering Arwen's long standing relationship with the things. She pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers to relieve the pain, and that was when she felt it. A prickle of unease, a shiver, a feeling of being watched. Not wanting to spend another moment in the open, she dove headlong into the crowd, navigating the grinding, sweaty bodies and stomping heels, sorely regretting her decision to come here more than she could say.

When she finally broke through the other side, Arwen pulled down the hem of her denim miniskirt and righted the soft leather jacket she had chosen before striding out the club and into the cool January air. It sent goosebumps along her freshly shaved legs and she pulled her jacket closer around her as she moved past the line of people queueing to get into the famous Chequers. No one spared her a glance, they were too busy comparing fake ids, gawking at the flashing neon sign above their heads or watching the bouncers, who looked as if they'd rather be anywhere else. Arwen stood on the curb, looking out over the ribbons of traffic, scanning for Tom's bright pink beetle, an eighteenth birthday present from his hippy parents. When Tom finally showed up, Arwen was more jittery than she had been earlier, checking the sidewalk regularly, and covertly watching the doors of the club to see if anyone would emerged. She gratefully yanked open the door and threw herself in, and Tom rolled off the curb back into the stream of cars. She shut her eyes and tilted her head back in relief, breathing in the familiar smell of Tom. Her bliss was short lived, for when she opened her eyes, they fell on the white knuckles of his hands, clenched around the steering wheel, and the grim set of his pursed lips. She shrank back into her seat and counted to three in her head. Right on cue, Tom spoke.

"You know I was in bed when you called? In bed!" She looked over at him, appraising him properly, taking in the blue and white striped pyjamas and his tousled bed hair. "Janette is going to kill you! And me!"

Arwen scoffed.

"I can handle my mother. She doesn't care anyway."

Tom cracked his fingers with his free hand, a nervous habit.

"You can't do this to me, Ar! Why didn't you just ask me to come with you? And what's all this about you being followed?"

Arwen shifted uncomfortably.

"It was a bad feeling." She mumbled. She could feel Tom trying not to lose his temper. "I'm sorry for not asking you, I just went on impulse, okay? It's Friday night, I wanted to do something different."

Tom was obstinately silent.

"Hey." She said softly, putting her hand on the fluffy brown fabric of his dressing gown. He didn't say anything, but made no move to shake her off. "Can I crash at your place tonight? I'd feel … safer."

Tom sighed, and shook one of the blonde strands of hair out of his eyes. "Of course you can." He softened, and Arwen knew he was just worried for her, like always. She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze before dropping her hand.

"Thanks."

They drove on in silence, the comfortable kind, until Tom turned down the road that led to his flat, across the road from where Arwen and her mother lived, and had lived since they were children. Arwen fished her phone out of her pocket and sent her mum a quick text: Staying at T's. Be back tomorrow. A. Brief, succinct and to the point. Her mum probably wouldn't read it until she woke up with a hangover the next morning, and by that time Arwen would be back, have deleted the text and be making breakfast. Tom parked up and together they walked up the metal stairs, Tom's slippers making no sound, Arwen's heeled ankle boots making a slight clang. They climbed through the window into Tom's bedroom, locking it behind them, and Arwen proceeded to get changed into the pair of pajama shorts and an oversized tshirt that were kept permanently here, in case of times like this. She tumbled into his bed, snuggling under the dark blue sheets and watching him as he turned off all the lights. She felt the mattress dip as it bore his weight and he snuggled in beside her. The glow-in-the-dark stars shone above them, arranged to form Tom's name in Elvish. It had been their 'thing' from a young age, learning how to speak the fictional language so that they both shared something that no one else understood.

"Ollo vae," whispered Tom.

"Losto vae," replied Arwen, as they always did.

Arwen woke with the sun the next morning, slipping carefully out of bed so as not to wake Tom. She pulled on her party clothes from the night before, brushing her teeth and pulling her thick, long hair back into a braid.

"Amarië arin," came the husky morning voice of Tom from the bed. Arwen gave him a smile.

"Boe annin gwad."

She gestured towards the early morning light and he followed the line of her hand with a furrowed brow.

"An ngell nîn hárar," he replied teasingly.

Arwen sighed.

"You know I can't."

Tom frowned, clambering out of bed.

"C'mon, I have nothing to do all day and neither do you, admit it."

"Eca, a mitta lambetya cedelessë orcova," she suggested, grinning. Tom's eyebrows lifted until they almost disappeared beneath the fringe of his hair.

"Súrë túla eendeletyallo," he reprimanded, tapping her lightly on the nose.

She grinned up at him, before lifting the latch and climbing out into the sunshine, the honking of car horns, the roar of traffic and the pollution hitting her in full on. She scrunched up her face, eyes adjusting to the light. Tom, poking his scruffy head out, sniffed the air.

"Lovely." Arwen turned to hug him goodbye. "Wait. Can you smell burning?" Arwen sniffed, and nearly choked.

"Eurgh! What is that?"

Tom's eyes widened.

"Arwen! Your necklace!"

Arwen looked, and sure enough her necklace was glowing orange, searing into her skin. Tom reached up and tried to pull it off, but it wouldn't come. Arwen couldn't feel it burn, and that was the odd thing. When at last it finally returned to its usual rose gold colour, Tom was out of his bedroom and pulling it away from the skin. It burned him when he tried to touch it, even cooled as it was. It had been his sixteenth birthday present to Arwen, a load of Elvish words in a small ring shape. The words were now seared into her flesh, a circle of letters just below her sternum. Tom took her hand.

"Arwen? Are you okay? Listen to me, you've gone into shock. I'm going to get some water, and you need to come back inside. I'll get mum to look at you."

He tried to leave, but Arwen wouldn't let go of his hand.

"Stay." She said, and that was when a wind started to whip up around them, a wind out of nowhere. Tom pulled her closer to him, hand wrapped around the railing, bracing himself.

Then a light like a falling star burst through the clouds above their heads and illuminated them. The bright white consumed their vision as they sank against the railings, each friend clutching the other tightly as the world went dark.

Translations:

Ollo vae ~ dream well

Losto vae ~ sleep well

Amarië arin ~ good morning

Boe annin gwad ~ I must go

An ngell nîn hárar ~ please stay

Eca a mitta lambetya cedelessë orcova ~ go and French kiss an Orc

Súrë túla eendeletyallo ~ wind pours out of your mouth

 **Hi all, hope you enjoyed the first chapter - sorry about the translations, they're from a mixed barrel of sources as I sadly do not speak the Elvish tongue. I mainly use Quenya Elvish here.**

 **Drop me a review and let me know what you thought!**

 **Kailee x**


	2. Chapter 2 The Woodland Realm

Chapter 2 ~ The Woodland Realm

When Arwen came to consciousness she was plummeting downwards. Her mind screamed at her that they were going too fast, crazily fast, dangerously fast. Her arms started windmilling round in a fruitless bid to stop herself, tumbling head over heels with no control. They were wrapped up in the light as it burned brightly around them, falling, still falling-

They crashed down through trees, leaves slapping their skin and twigs leaving little painful cuts and Arwen could hear herself screaming but Tom was still unconscious, visible from the horrible way his body flopped from side to side like a fish. She flailed for him, and their hands brushed before Arwen's shoulder slammed into the ground moments before her head did, so hard that she felt sick. Then the bright light that had taken them there disappeared as quickly as it had left, retracting back into the sky until it was a little speck before disappearing entirely.

Arwen moaned in pain. Everything ached, her shoulder especially, which had absorbed most of the impact of the fall. A stinging cut ran along her cheekbone. Her fingers came away bloody when she reached up a trembling hand to touch it. Her knees were grazed, but as she slowly sat up, wincing, she surmised that these were thankfully the worst of her injuries. Tom. The thought came to her head faster than the breath of wind that huffed through the pine trees above and she scanned her surroundings for him. There was no sign, only the odd sort of quiet that had settled upon the woods like a mantle, eerie and watchful. Arwen staggered to her feet, cursing the high heeled boots which had seemed like such a good idea when she had put them on yesterday night in her bedroom. That thought stirred panic, but she forced it down, resolving to concentrate first on finding Tom, then the whys as to her strange whereabouts.

The pine needles crunched beneath her feet as she took one step forward, then another. He had been right next to her, within touching distance, so how was it possible that he fell so far away? There was a creaking groan above her head and Arwen looked up, into the canopy where the odd spot of light reached down and kissed her cheeks through the dense leaves.

"Tom!" She whispered, as the source of the noise became clear. It was the groan of a tree, its thick branch bent bearing the weight of her six foot friend. He was trapped in a hunter's net - Arwen only recognised it because of all the movies she'd seen. The ropes were meshed and thin, dangling the prey from the branch. Tom must have sprung the trap when he landed.

"Tom! Tom, can you hear me?" She called up. There was no response. Arwen looked up, shielding her eyes, and tried to work out how she could let him down. There seemed to be no rope attached to the ground that would enable her to do this, so Arwen reasoned that the best way to free him would be to cut a hole in the net large enough to climb through, provided she could awaken him. Selecting a sharpish looking stone, she tucked it into her pocket and surveyed the trunk of the nearest tree with the grim attitude of one about to go into battle. Arwen lifted her leg as high as her miniskirt would allow and put her boot on the first branch. She heaved off the ground and grabbed onto the tree, a sense of triumph in her that she had made it three feet off the ground. The oak tree that she was in had a trunk regularly punctuated by branches, so climbing was relatively easy. Nevertheless, by the time that she was finally eye level with Tom, she was sweaty, tired, in pain from her shoulder and her shoes and brand new leather jacket lay abandoned on the forest floor beneath her, discarded for convenience. Testing the branch gingerly with her bare foot, neon pink toenails in tact, Arwen found it stable enough and began to edge out. It was quickly realised that she did not have the balance nor the nerve to make it out to Tom, so decided to sloth it, and slowly progressed along the branch that way, hugging it with her feet wrapped tightly round the bark. She entwined her fingers in the rope and tried, unsuccessfully, to pull him towards her. He was stirring, slowly coming to, so Arwen set her energy on making him a hole big enough to climb out of. She sawed and sawed and sawed, but the rope was made of some unknown, impossibly strong material that would not break, no matter her efforts or frustrations. In anger, she threw the stone down, where it fell and hit the floor with a dull thud, sending up a puff of brown leaves like ripples in a pond.

"Ar? Is that you?"

His voice was so loud by her ear, so sudden, so unexpected that she jumped out of her skin and loosened her hold on the branch. She gave a loud, high pitched scream as she slipped off, her scrabbling hands just managing to grab hold of the base of the net before she could fall once more. Her heart stopped. Tom's hand reached through a gap and clasped onto her wrist, relieving some of the pressure. Arwen could feel the strain all up her sides.

A second voice, deep and loud startled them both, and only Tom's hold and her survival instincts kept her from letting go.

"Two birds with one stone, I see."

Arwen looked down, past her feebly kicking feet to the ground, where a tall man surrounded by others was smirking up at her, her favourite jacket dangling from the tip of his sword. Wait - he had a sword?! Arwen's eyes rounded.

"You did fall from the sky, didn't you, little bird?" His laughing eyes addressed her.

"Let us down!" Arwen yelled, red faced from holding up her own body weight. Her fingers were beginning to cramp, and Tom's sweaty grip starting to slip.

"Just let go!" The man sounded amused. "I promise I'll catch you!" He held out his arms, and this drew a laugh from his companions. Arwen gave a scream of frustration, before her attention was caught by a blur of green leaping up the tree, using each branch as though it were a stepping stone, making mincemeat of what had taken Arwen so long and so much effort. Her mouth dropped open as the blur whizzed towards her and barreled into her from the side in mid air, slamming her body against the opposite tree trunk. Arwen held on for dear life and could only watch while the person rescued Tom, depositing him on the ground where Tom promptly scrambled back from the man and his friends. When Arwen's feet touched the ground, she quickly put her shoes back on and marched up to the man, snatching her jacket back haughtily. His laugh followed her back to Tom, who looked pale and ill. Arwen took his hand and proceeded to try and pull him out of the clearing but he would not let her, resisting.

"Arwen. Arwen stop." He murmured softly, voice haunted. "Look at them Ar, look at them."

So Arwen looked, and what she saw drained the colour from her face and made her knees weak. She leant heavily on Tom.

Sharp, pointed ears. Long, braided hair. Elegant, beautiful faces. Green warrior's clothes. Wickedly sharp curving blades and knives, strapped to backs, thighs, arms, legs.

Arwen's voice sounded horrified when she spoke.

"They're… Elves…"


	3. Chapter 3 King

Chapter 3 ~ King

Tom looked slightly green. Arwen wasn't handling the truth particularly well either.

"What are you?" She demanded, refusing to believe her eyes. "Some kind of cult?"

The man - elf - ignored this, and jerked a thumb in their direction.

"Tie them up. We're taking them to the King."

"Holy shit," this seemed to snap Tom out of his trance and he grabbed hold of Arwen, running towards the edge of the clearing. An arrow thudded into the tree next to them, a millimetre from Tom's ear. He turned his head fractionally, eyes wide with fear.

"One more step," a cool, female voice rang out behind them, "and the next one goes through your head."

Very slowly, cautiously, Tom raised his hand, and the other hand holding Arwen's above his head in surrender. They were grabbed and arms pulled behind their backs, tied tightly with the same rope that had suspended them above the forest floor.

Flanked on all sides by the green clad elves, they were led through woodland so thick and repetitive that Arwen almost felt glad that they were not left to their own devices, until they came to a bridge over a deep gulley, leading straight up to four enormous stone pillars, shielding a gateway built into the side of the hill, cast in alternating shadows and golden sunlight, covered in moss and ivy, a strange, bright green colour. It was an impressive, ancient sight, and little warning bells began to peal in Arwen's mind, that perhaps this wasn't just a really creepy, really realistic joke, or that she had had a spiked drink at the club and was hallucinating the whole thing.

A sharp shove came on her shoulder, she stumbled forward and tripped, knees grating on the unforgiving stone without her hands to stop her fall.

"Don't touch her!" She heard Tom shout, and there was a scuffle as he fought to get through to her through the six soldiers, and was subdued instantly. Arwen was hauled to her feet, high heeled boots dragging along the floor as they entered the vast, spacious halls of the Woodland Realm. Arwen's jaw dropped. The guard holding her arm chuckled darkly at her expression, and barked something back to the rest of the battalion, but it was lost to Arwen and Tom in the echoes. The group then separated, lightly treading the footpaths and stairs away from the humans until only the leader, the She-Elf with the bow and two guards for each remained. They took the long, curving stairs with no handrail or barrier to stop them from falling, which might have looked aesthetically pleasing, but was an absolute safety hazard. Arwen resolved to mention it to their King. Up and up they went, until the sunlight filtering through the small gaps in the interwoven branches that made up the ceiling became more and more regular, and it all became much lighter. Arwen saw why when they finally made the top, calves aching and breathing ragged. A circle, perfectly cut from the roof formed a circle of concentrated light beneath it, falling onto a throne, and glinting off the spires of the ornate crown atop the head of the Elf King. His hair was white and long, and flowed out to past his shoulders. He wore robes inscribed with Elvish words, robes of blue with silver thread like a spider's web embroidered on it. The man and his red haired companion dropped to their knees, a hand bunched in a fist over their heart.

"Speak." The King's voice was ancient, yet full of power, each letter enunciated, the harsh 'k' sound ringing in the reverential silence.

"Êl síla erin lû e-govaned vîn," began the leader smoothly. (A star shines on the hour of our meeting)

"Are we not in the presence of Men?" Demanded the King. "Shall we not speak their tongue?"

The leader bowed his head.

"Of course, my King. We found these two after the star fell from the heavens, in roughly the same location as our watchmen perceived it to have fallen. The Boy was caught in one of our boar traps."

Arwen looked over at Tom, who was sporting a split lip and a bruising cheek. He smiled encouragingly, then winced. She looked away.

"We found them dressed as they are."

His voice was layered with disgust.

"Ego." (Go) Commanded the King, looking at Arwen studiously. They left silently. Arwen raised her head from where she had been studying the floor religiously. Her eyes were captured by two elves she had not noticed before, standing behind the King. Both had circlets of gold around their heads, inscribed with slanting elvish text. She couldn't make it out. The one to the right was dark, with black hair and green eyes like the moss outside. His garb was the same colour as his presumable father's, but was more suited to a warrior than a King, despite its finery. A curving blade, shining steel hung from his hip. The other elf was dressed the same with the same green eyes, but was the opposite colouring, tousled blonde hair and tanned skin. They were both beautiful, agelessly so, the right one like a sort of Channing Tatum Zac Efron mix, Arwen deduced, and the left one a young Alex Pettyfer in Wild Child mixed with a Hollister model. With pointy ears, long hair, braids and immortality, of course, or whatever ageing process affected these elves.

The King caught her staring, and gave her a cold smile.

"Gi nathlam hí. You are welcome here."

"If I'm so welcome," sniped Arwen, "why don't you tell your dogs to let go of me, your Majesty?"

The blow caught her unawares and she cried out, the sound repeated over and over.

The guard who did it snarled something rude under his breath for speaking thus to his King.

She refused to back down, meeting his eyes.

"Let me introduce to you my sons, Crown Prince Kilithnîl, my first born, and Prince Legolas II."

"Do they all dress like you back where you came from, mortal?" Kilithnîl asked, grinning as his eyes raked up and down Arwen's exposed legs and stomach.

Arwen would not speak again, but nor would she be intimidated, and bared her teeth at him, an obvious challenge.

He bared his back, lips curling to reveal sharp canines.

"I like this female," he pronounced, strolling over to Tom with deliberate slowness. "Is she yours, boy?" He enquired, taking Tom's face in his hands, digging the white nails in so that he left little pale fingerprints surrounded by red skin when he let go.

"We're friends, pig," spat Tom. "Now let us go."

Kilithnîl half turned, then sprung back on him, back handing Tom across the face so that his head ricocheted back with a crack.

Arwen pulled desperately against her captors, trying to reach him.

"Enough, Kilithnîl." The King's voice was soft yet commanding. His son obeyed instantly, and fell back behind his father, who stood slowly, and walked over to Arwen, each footfall echoing on the stone.

"Iston i nîf gîn," he murmured, pacing (I know your face). Arwen stiffened. Then, a lightbulb seemed to go off in his head and his eyes snapped to look at her.

"Arwen," he breathed.


	4. Chapter 4 History

Chapter 4 ~ History

Her eyes were wide, confused, frightened. The King was staring at her, face ashen, frozen to the spot. His son's eyes flicked between them both, just as puzzled as she.

"What?" Whispered Arwen disbelievingly.

"Arwen." The King repeated. "Why do you look so much like her? You cannot be her, she has been dead for Ages."

"Be who?" Snapped Arwen impatiently. This seemed to rouse the King from his thoughts, and his attention went to one of the guards by the top of the stairs.

"Fetch the Master of the Records." He barked. Then, to Arwen: "Who are you and where do you come from, mortal?"

"Arwen Undomiel of planet Earth," she quipped sarcastically.

"Of course you are from Middle Earth, foolish girl. Who is your mother? And your father?" The King demanded.

"Middle Earth? What are you, crazy?!"

"Answer the question." This came from the blonde one, Legolas. Arwen threw a sneer in his direction, before answering dully.

"My mum is Ms Janette Celeste Undomiel. I dunno who my dad was. He left before I was born." It was impossible to keep the bitterness out of her voice. The King made a beckoning motion to the door, returning back to his seat as his robes swished on the floor behind him. Arwen looked up, meeting the gaze of the blonde prince, who watched her curiously. She felt the heat rise to her cheeks and averted her eyes hastily.

"Master. The Common Tongue, if you please, we have guests."

An old elf walked into the room, white hair pulled back from his wrinkled face into a simple low ponytail.

"How may I be of service, hîr vuin?"

The King seemed pleased with his deference.

"These mortals were found in the same area as the falling star was seen to touch our woodland. They seem confused, and rather obnoxious, lacking knowledge of revered traditions or respect." This was directed mostly at the glowering Tom, though Arwen could feel her guard's gazes down the back of her neck, and the throbbing of her struck cheek. "Look at the female, Master, and tell me who you see."

The Master did, but Arwen kept her eyes on the floor, refusing to look up. Kilithnîl was by her side in seconds, moving impossibly fast, wrenching her out of the guard's grip and dragged her across the room to the Master, one hand clenching her chin, the other pressed against her back. Arwen struggled as best she could, but the Elf Prince would have nothing less than submission. Eventually, Arwen's cornflower blue eyes met the fading ones of the Master, whose eyebrows lifted.

"Lady Arwen Undómiel. A near perfect replica." He pronounced. "From where do you originate, child?"

"No." Arwen ground out, still fighting Kilithnîl. "I'm not answering any of your questions until you answer mine. What are you people? Where are we now? What brought us here and what do you want with me and Tom?"

The Master's eyes crinkled at the corners like crumpled paper.

"You are in the Woodland Realm, and we are Wood Elves. I suspect you were brought here by the alignment of the stars between our worlds, and that necklace of yours. All we would ask of you is a few questions."

He seemed kindly enough, but Arwen trusted nobody. She threw back her elbow hard, and it connected with the Prince's hard stomach, loosening his grip. She twisted herself away from him and backed away, arms up in surrender.

"Stop!" She cried, as they all prepared to dive for her. "You all know I'm not going anywhere, just let me stand by myself, okay? And let go of Tom, then I'll answer your stupid questions!"

They looked to their King for assent, and when it was given, Tom was released. He dashed over to Arwen, who pulled him in for a hug. He stroked her hair with one hand, the other clasping her tightly.

"Thank god." He whispered softly.

"Hey, I'm okay. It's you I'm worried about."

"I'm bored." Commented Kilithnîl snidely, interrupting.

Arwen shot him a look, then took a breath.

"Alright. Let's talk."

"Another world?" Asked the King, later that evening, once alone with his advisor. "Could it be possible?"

The Master Advisor nodded, as did the Master of the Records.

"You saw their clothes, my Lord. Such weave and fabric does not exist in Middle Earth."

"And it would take some imagination to elaborate such a plot as this," commented the Master of the Records dryly.

"Quite." Nodded the King. "But what are we to do with them?"

"Send them back to their home?" Suggested the Master Advisor, a little too optimistically.

The King's brow furrowed.

"They would tell their people about us. And, if their technology is as great at the girl presumes it to be, we would stand no chance," argued the Master of the Records. "Not that we know how to send them back," he added thoughtfully.

"Imburse them in our culture. Gain their trust until we can find more out about Lady Arwen's little twin." Decided the King at last, after considerable thought, standing wearily. His advisors stood, and filed in behind him as he left the room, sending a guard to give the prisoners news of their fate.

Arwen kicked the wall, hard.

"Stay? Please tell me he was joking."

Tom sat against the cold stone wall of their cell, playing with a piece of blutack found in his pocket earlier. It was currently being moulded into a snail shape by Tom's restless fingers. His foot tapped nervously as he thought.

"I have to get back." He said suddenly, looking up, his face contorted in an expression of panic. "My mum - what's she gonna think?! That we've been kidnapped? Murdered? Oh my god, and Kate! What's Kate going to -"

"-If it helps, I never really liked her. Out of all your bad life choices, she was the worst."

"Oh, seriously?! She is my girlfriend! What girlfriend wouldn't be insecure about her boyfriend sharing a bed with his female best friend?"

"It was like twice! I needed a bed and yours was free, okay?" Defended Arwen hastily.

"Whatever. She's always hated you anyway."

"Aw, thanks doll," she simpered sarcastically, mimicking Kate's high pitched squeak.

"Oh shut up, Ar. Point is, we need to get back home."

Arwen mocked surprise.

"Oh really? You know what, I'm happy staying here in this five star cell. I may just take a permanent holiday to the land of new beginnings."

Tom looked aghast.

"You're not serious?"

Arwen shrugged.

"What do I have to go back for?"

"Me, maybe?"

"But you're here, aren't you?"

"Not for much longer if I have anything to say about it."

Tom sighed.

"If this is about your mom-"

"-Yeah. Actually, I feel like she's the exact person to tell me why I look like some long dead freaky Elf lady minus the pointy ears, why we share the same name, for God's sake, and why we were somehow teleported to the land of crazy by a necklace that branded itself into my skin!"

They were silent for a moment, then Tom started laughing, for no particular reason except the ridiculousness of their situation. This, of course, set Arwen off, and soon the pair were doubled over, the peals of laughter bouncing off the walls and echoing in the vastness of the great stone halls. High above them, Legolas turned from his door with a frown and promptly buried his head beneath a pillow.

 **Hope you enjoyed! This story is set many years after LOTR, to clear up confusion.**

 **Leave a review!**

 **Kailee x**


	5. Chapter 5 Welcome

Chapter 5 - Welcome

After a simple breakfast, they were lead out of the cell by a small She-Elf who introduced herself as Linwë Elensar, daughter of the Princess's maid. Arwen was not exactly a giant, but this girl was smaller by at least a head. She had a musical, high pitched voice and was constantly talking. She told them that the Elvenkind were opposed to strangers, which is what they were. Intruders, only there by the King's command. She said that it was for this reason that they must blend in, become part of the background so that they did not attract any unwanted attention. Arwen was to become a handmaiden to the Princess Alatáriël so that she was under her protection and would not be harmed. Tom would be the new personal servant of the Prince Kilithnîl, as the post had recently been vacated. Linwë refused to say why. It was then that they were separated, Linwë with Tom and Arwen with a guard. She followed him to a crowded room filled with clothes, jewels, thread, fabric, pins and a seamstress, a measuring tape dangling from one ear.

She looked up as Arwen entered, the guard melting back into the shadows as they so often (so creepily, Arwen couldn't help but think) did.

"I have never dressed a human before," she commented, pulling the measuring tape out and briskly pulling Arwen's arms out to the side where she stayed, immobile as a stuffed dummy - which she may as well be, considering that that was exactly how the seamstress was treating her - pulling this way and that, tugging at her clothes and being a general nuisance. Arwen was moments away from slapping the woman's self-righteous expression right off her face when at last she stepped back, apparently satisfied.

"We may have some child's clothes that will fit. You won't fit with the other handmaidens, but it will have to do."

She couldn't be more patronising if she tried, and Arwen could only stand there and fume as her arms were piled with a complicated looking gown, a greeny colour with little green gemstones on the bodice. The skirt was very very puffy, completely medieval, and Arwen, in her little miniskirt and leather jacket could only look disgruntled and cynical.

"You want me to wear this?" She asked, disbelievingly. "What era do you live in, prehistoric?"

The seamstress opened her pouting mouth in an outraged fashion to reply, but was cut off by a low, husky voice from behind Arwen.

"If you won't get out of your clothes by yourself, I'd be happy to help."

It was Kilithnîl, leaning against the doorframe and smirking, looking unfairly handsome, Arwen thought. It was so typical that the only hot boys in her life were ones in some magical Elf land. And they were off limits - not only were they princes, and stereotypically douchey princes at that, but Arwen definitely didn't want to put Stockholm Syndrome down on her list of stupid life achievements. Not that she had one, but it was the thought that counted.

"Is there something on my face?" Asked said prince dryly, and Arwen realised with a start that she had been staring at him unabashedly. She blushed, turning away.

"Thanks for the offer, princey, but no thanks." And to the seamstress: "Is there anywhere I can change into this ridiculous contraption?"

"Behind the screen," replied the woman curtly, still miffed about before, most likely. She switched her attention to Kilithnîl and curtseyed deeply, murmuring something in Elvish too fast for Arwen to understand. Not that she was listening, of course. Kilithnîl replied equally rapidly, and the seamstress curtseyed and disappeared through one of the small doors that lead into what was presumably a storeroom. As Arwen struggled with the dress, Kilithnîl paced the room, deliberately making a tapping sound with his boots to annoy her. Arwen had seen enough of the Elves to know that they moved with absolute silence.

"So, mortal," he began, drawling slightly. "Where's your mate at this fine hour? Deserted you for a She-Elf already? I'm hardly surprised, we have _such_ a fine range here in Middle Earth."

"He's not my mate, Elf. And Tom has a girlf- mate - already, so where I come from, that means hands off to all your _fine_ She-Elves." Sniped Arwen back, venting her frustration at the dress onto the prince.

"Has he claimed her?" Asked Kilithnîl simply.

"Say what?!"

"Well, where I come from," he mocked, and Arwen could just picture the smirk on his face, "when a male and a female are in love, the male has to claim the female as his. A bite is usually the done thing, somewhere obvious." He seemed completely unconcerned by what he was saying.

Arwen, however, was disgusted.

"That's so barbaric-"

"-Don't you have a claiming in your land, mortal?" Kilithnîl asked, apparently annoyed that she'd insulted what was clearly quite a big tradition.

"We call it a wedding. The bride and groom exchange vows and rings as a token of their love."

"I knew it! I knew he had claimed you, that's why you wear that ring around your neck!"

"It was a gift! For crying out loud, you brainless numbskull-"

Kilithnîl moved again with that inhuman speed, coming round the screen just as Arwen pulled it over her head. He grabbed the ring and pulled her closer to him, his strength frightening her, although she didn't flinch.

"Let go of me, Kilithnîl," she warned.

He shushed her, staring at her necklace with his startlingly green eyes. Now that they were close, Arwen could see little flecks of black in them.

"This is my language, mortal, how did you come by this?" When she did not reply, his long, elegant fingers swept the necklace aside, touching the branded skin and eliciting a minute shudder from Arwen.

"Your heart is racing, mortal," he observed, and that was when Arwen slapped him, hard and oddly fast, faster than she would have thought possible. Out of fear, out of anger.

His first reaction was shock, staring at her with blazing eyes. Then Arwen ran, grabbing her clothes and ran, yelling for Tom like a crazy person.

Kilithnîl gave her a ten second head start, and then the chase began.

Arwen tore up some stairs and along a corridor, hearing the wind whoosh as Kilithnîl caught up with her -

The force of the collision sent Arwen tumbling to the ground.

A rock hard chest - it may as well have been rock for all the leeway he gave - stopped her instantly.

"Brother." She heard Kilithnîl say, by way of greeting, and Arwen knew she was in deep, deep trouble.

"Get up, mortal," she heard Legolas say, and stood, not failing to notice the red handprint on Kilithnîl's cheek.

She glared at Legolas.

"What is it with you people?! I have a name, use it."

Legolas raised an eyebrow.

"You do realise that you are speaking to a prince, don't you? -Mortal," he added as an afterthought.

"Okay, _your royal douchiness,_ see that handprint on his face? I will not hesitate give you a matching one if you call me that again."

Legolas raised his eyebrow.

"Careful, _Arwen,_ " warned Kilithnîl from behind her. "You could lose your hand if you tried anything that stupid again."

Arwen glowered, but remained silent. Legolas took a grip on her upper arm.

"I'll escort her to our sister's court." He started to pull her away.

"Careful, hîr nín Legolas. She's a feisty one," called Kilithnîl. Arwen only glared furiously at Legolas, too proud to ask him to slow down so that her legs could catch up.

 **At last, they arrived.**

 **"My sister's court," announced Legolas, and every single head in the room swivelled to stare.**

 **Hope you enjoyed and sorry it took so long, exams suck :/**

 **Please review, they motivate me :)**

 **And in response to a question I got, the time frame is ambiguous to give me more freedom. But it's many years after the films.**

 **Thanks,**

 **Kailee** **xx**


	6. Chapter 6 Court

Chapter 6~The Court

Awkward was an understatement. Staying close to Legolas, Arwen felt she had never been more freaked out. It was like something out of a fairytale book. Everyone was wearing weird clothes, so she fit right in, lifting the dress that was a little too long up above her ankles so that it didn't trail on the ground. So many people, so many colours, so many pairs of pointy ears and sharp eyes that followed her everywhere. Legolas seemed completely unperturbed, a hand on her back so that she didn't try to run. She'd considered it, many times, but she felt the best option was stealth. As cool as this place may have originally seemed, she was fed up of being treated as an inferior, grouchy from a bad night's sleep and missing Tom terribly. Not to mention Legolas and Kilithnîl seemed to enjoy her discomfort. Stupid, bored immortals. And wifi. Her phone was literally worlds away, and it was like a piece of Arwen's soul was on the other side of the Universe.

She was broken from her daydream by someone asking her a question.

"Hm?"

Legolas pinched her sharply.

"Pay attention."

Arwen squeaked in annoyance, rubbing where he had pinched.

"I swear, if one of you idiot princes touches me again, I'll kill you. Didn't you get the message last time?"

There was a laugh like tinkling bells.

"I like her. She may stay."

Legolas bowed to the source of the voice. A beautiful She-Elf with long, wavy blonde hair, making Arwen instantly jealous.

"Thank you, sister. You are magnanimous."

Princess Alatáriël looked pleased.

"You must stay as well, hîr nín Legolas. It has been too long since I was in your company."

Legolas inclined his head gratefully, and the court returned to its usual level of noise.

"Why do they keep calling you that?" Asked Arwen curiously. When Legolas did not reply, she poked him. He looked most put out. "Blondie. I'm talking to you."

"What is it?" He sounded superior, bored.

"Why do they call you that thing? Heer neen or whatever."

"Hîr nín. It means my lord. I am a prince to them, if only 'Blondie' to you." His lips quirked into a smile, and Arwen realised it was the first time she had seen him properly smile.

She pretended faintness.

"Oh!"

Legolas rushed to steady her as she slumped.

"Are you well?" He demanded. "Arwen! Are you well?"

She opened one eye and gave him a grin.

"The fact that you made a joke, my lord, simply weakened me at the knees!" She put on a faux posh British accent, fluttering her eyelashes at him. He rolled his eyes, but was unable to bite back his grin.

"You know, most women do swoon at the sight of me. It's no surprise that you're no different," he quirked, and Arwen feigned outrage.

"I agree, your face does give people reason to fall over and feel sick," she retorted.

Princess Alatáriël cleared her throat, and the pair snapped to attention.

"My handmaidens sit behind me, Mistress Undomiel."

Arwen excuected an awkward curtsey, going to sit where she gestured. The handmaidens recoiled away from her like she was diseased, so Arwen instantly slouched and spread her legs, putting her arms behind her head and taking up as much space as was humanly possible, pretending not to see the glares shot her way. It was their fault- they'd given her a wide berth, so she'd take it. When Legolas, with his creepily good hearing, heard the disturbance, he turned around, fixing her with a look. Arwen simply blew him a kiss, and twirled a strand of long brown hair round her finger. He narrowed his eyes as if to say 'behave', but Arwen had never been very good at doing what she was told. About five minutes of everyone ignoring her, she began to get bored, and started tapping her feet and humming tunelessly. Soon her hands joined in and she was doing a pretty snazzy version of baa baa black sheep - Arwen style.

When pretending she didn't exist failed, Legolas broke off his conversation with his sister and turned to her with a scowl.

"What are you doing?!" He hissed.

Arwen smiled nonchalantly.

"Amusing myself, since the back of your head wasn't entertaining enough."

Legolas snarled.

"How about we see how amusing the insides of a cell are for you, mortal?"

"I'm good," snapped Arwen.

Princess Alatáriël turned.

"Perhaps we may find something to amuse you, Mistress Undomiel? What do you like to do to occupy your time?"

Arwen chewed her lip.

"Uh… I like running. And I read and draw sometimes."

"What do you read?" Enquired the princess. Legolas watched Arwen impassively.

"Nothing you've ever heard of, I bet." She hadn't meant it to be insulting, but Alatáriël stiffened. "-I only meant, uh, the books I read are different to the ones you have here, your highness." She added hastily, and to her relief, the princess seemed slightly mollified.

"Perhaps my brother can show you our collection? It would be a good opportunity to expand your horizons?" Ah. A clever ploy to get the troublesome mortal out of court, no doubt, but Arwen took the bait, standing abruptly and grabbing Legolas' arm.

"C'mon, Blondie, the books won't read themselves."

Legolas looked most disgruntled, and Arwen bobbed Princess Alatáriël a cheery curtsey, practically running in her need to escape the Elvish court. Hopefully Legolas would leave her to her own devices in the library, and she could sneak out and explore. Her goal was a route of escape from Crazytown, and the sooner the better.

They walked in silence, as Legolas seemed irked that she'd interrupted his chat with little sis - or big sis, Arwen couldn't tell.

Soon, they reached a large set of doors, arching up high. There were two guards on either side, who parted obligingly for Legolas and his small charge.

What she saw through the opened doors made Arwen's jaw disappear through the tectonic plates and into the mantle. It was like the scene from Beauty and the Beast, where the Beast shows Belle the library, stacks upon stacks upon stacks of books reaching up to the ceilings, with convenient gold gilded ladders for reaching the higher ones. They were all the hard back, gold leaf, fancy pancy type of old fashioned books, and Arwen reached for them greedily, aching to read -

They were in Elvish.

Snapping the book shut, Arwen stared daggers at the grinning Legolas.

"Is this some kind of joke?" She demanded. Her spoken Elvish was good, but written? Nuh uh. "Oh, I see. Very funny. God, I can't believe …" She trailed off into a muttered rant.

"If you are looking for the section in the Common Tongue, you will find them there." The smirking Legolas pointed to the far corner.

"You are unbelievable." Arwen stalked off in the direction of the books, hoping Legolas would leave so that she could escape in peace. No such luck. He had the annoying persistence of his brother, and shadowed her to the shelf.

"I have never seen anyone so awestruck by parchment before," he commented.

Picking out a dusty novel meticulously, Arwen glowered at Legolas.

"Don't you have somewhere to be, Blondie?"

He raised his eyebrows at her sharp tone.

"No witty retort? I'm disappointed."

"No telling off for my lack of respect? I'm disappointed." Arwen snarked. Legolas smiled slightly.

"There she is. But you are right, I do have better things to do with my life than play nurse to a spoilt child."

"Aw, but you'd look so good in a dress." The sarcasm dripped off her words.

"No need to be jealous. We can't all pull it off." He looked down sympathetically at her baggy gown, and strode to the door, giving them orders not to let her out.

Arwen ached to sprint after him and pummel him for calling her a spoilt child, but seeing as it would be undignified and beneath her, she turned back to her book. Also, it would just prove that he was right. And he'd probably throw her through a window before she could land a punch. And she couldn't run in heels. Or the dress.

Cursing mildly under her breath, Arwen slouched against the wall and began to read.


	7. Chapter 7 Attack of the Orcs

Chapter 7 ~ Attack of the Orcs

Arwen's sneezes ricocheted around the silent room, bouncing off bookshelves and pinging off the high ceiling so that the embarrassing squeaks echoed a hundred times in her ears. It didn't help that her eyes were streaming, her nose was twitching and it seemed like every dust particle in the library had made itself a new home up her nostrils.

It was all the fault of that stupid little book. One tiny accidental drop to the floor had released a cloud - a literal cloud - of dust into her face, and Arwen had spent the last ten minutes trying to stop sneezing.

At last, there seemed some respite, and Arwen coughed and spluttered dismally, making up her mind to go tell that ass Legolas to go find himself a vacuum cleaner, or she'd slap that perfect face of his so hard it came off.

The doors, to Arwen's surprise opened compliantly, but she was to have no such luck with the guards.

"You are to remain in the library until the return of the Prince," one of the guards informed politely.

Arwen's eyes narrowed.

"Like hell I am! I nearly died from a dust attack! Go find his highness, and bring him here! Pronto!" Sadly, Arwen's do-not-mess-with-me voice had little impact on the guard, who snarled, showing some sharp, pointy canines. She recoiled.

"I do not take orders from you, mortal. Now get back inside." His tons brokered no argument, and scowling fiercely, Arwen shut the door so hard it rattled.

She was entertaining herself coming up with interesting, nasty names to call them some minutes later, when she heard shouts and bangs, and screams and growls and animal noises. Arwen began to freak. Were they under attack? Weren't the Elves meant to be ninja sword fighting demons? What if one of the attackers came into the library?

This thought sent her flying to the door, ever so slowly and quietly turning the gilded door handle, opening it a fraction. What she saw scared her more than anything ever had ever ever in the history of ever. Something on two legs, vaguely man-shaped, with rounded shoulders and oddly tough, white scarred skin. And there were scars, some red, some white, faded or new, long and short, shallow and deep. It's nose was two little slits halfway down the face, very eau de Voldemort, and it's eyes were small and red. The mouth, dribbling blood, had multiple rows of blackened and yellowed teeth, and the ears were pointed but flattened back. It was wearing iron armour over the vitals, but nothing covered its bald head, the scalp of which was too criss crossed with scars. At its feet were two Elf guards. Arwen stifled a scream and shut the door as fast as she dared, sprinting across the room and dragging tables, chairs, cabinets and anything she could carry or push to put against the wall. Next, she climbed up a ladder meant for reaching the topmost shelves and stayed at the top, grabbing the thickest volume for protection.

There were grunts and noises from outside, and it was all that Arwen could do to stop herself trembling with fear. If she moved some of the books, she could squeeze herself into a section, to take the pressure off her legs. It was then that Arwen heard the sniffing. Not the cold kind, or the crying kind, but the deliberate smelling out of a prey for a predator. A moment of silence.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The thing was trying to get in.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Tears slipped down Arwen's face.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Tom. Legolas. Kilithnîl. Anybody.

Bang. Bang. Crash.

The doors broke open, sending tables and chairs flying backwards. The creature walked in, and Arwen stifled a whimper. It hissed, and tilted its head back, inhaling. It started muttering words in a harsh, guttural tongue that Arwen had to strain to hear.

Then, its eyes snapped open, and a pink, fleshy tongue slid out to taste the air. It looked directly at her.

Arwen screamed.

The creature tilted its head and smiled grotesquely at her, its clawed hands clicking against the polished wood of the ladder as it began to climb, still speaking in that horrible language that grated against Arwen's ears. Frantically, she hurled tome after tome at the creature, screaming like a banshee for Legolas, Kilithnîl, a guard or anyone to come help. But no one came, and Arwen's sobs grew hysterical as the thing unsheathed a wickedly sharp looking sword, only shelves away. It swiped, knocking some books onto the floor far below, joining the ones already sent there by Arwen.

"Go away! Get away! Leave me alone!" She threw books at its head, but they just seemed to glance off. It was now so close that she could smell its rancid breath, and see the feverish excitement in its eyes as it contemplated its next meal.

"Help! For the love of God somebody help me!" She screeched, kicking viciously as the thing tried to grab her leg. Its claws glanced off, leaving three lines down her calf which burned and stung painfully.

Then, the creature leaned forward, its eyes dull as a dagger plunged into its back and it fell, down and down, landing on the floor so hard the wood cracked.

Arwen could just make out a figure in the door, and it looked kind of monster-ish, and that was all the encouragement she needed, throwing 'An Elf's Beginner Guide to Cookery' at the intruder with all the strength she could muster. The book caught it on the side of the head, and Arwen heard a grunt. Not taking time to see what damage had been done, she scrambled down the ladder and turned to make a break for it, instead colliding with Kilithnîl, who rubbed the side of his head ruefully.

"You're lucky I heal fast, mortal-"

She cut him off by giving him a huge hug, crying like a baby into his chest, partly for being scared and relieved, but also so that she wouldn't have to look at the corpse. Kilithnîl only hesitated for a moment before wrapping his arms around her too, and they stayed that way until Arwen had regained some composure.

"What was that?"

"An Orc. I don't know how it got past the guards, or why. They haven't disturbed us in years. But you don't need to worry about that. Come, and let's find your mate."

"He's not my-" Arwen tried to step after him, then cried out in agony, her leg buckling underneath her as she fell to the ground, losing consciousness before her head hit the floor.


	8. Chapter 8 - Recovery

Chapter 8 ~ Recovery

When she woke up, she did as one can only do when awaking from an Orc-induced coma - she vomited. Kilithnîl backed away faster than she'd ever seen him move. -Unsurprising, considering the icky black stuff that had just erupted from her mouth. Kilithnîl threw a panicky look at the nurse.

"Do something!"

"It's her body purging itself of the poison. Nothing can be done, my lord."

Arwen made a groaning noise that sounded like the screeching of rusty car brakes, and someone grasped her hand.

"Ar? Can you hear me?"

Kilithnîl sounded - as per - bored and superior when he spoke.

"Of course she can hear you, you bimbling mortal moron. She's just choosing not to waste her energy on someone quite so insignificant."  
Tom chose to ignore this verdict.

"How are you feeling?" Arwen could hear the concern in his voice.

"Peachy."

She winced at the sound of her scratchy vocals.

"Can you remember what happened?" Tom pressed.

"Creepy white thing killed me, and this is heaven?" She tried, taking the proffered water gratefully.

Kilithnîl snorted.

"You should all leave her to rest," chastised the nurse. "You'll be up and about in no time, Mistress Undomiel."

"I'm not leaving her," said Tom obstinately.

"And I'm her official guard." Piped up Kilithnîl, sitting down on the neighbouring bed. It creaked under his weight.

The nurse rolled her eyes.

"Well, just keep a close watch on her, and fetch me if she wakes again."

Both males looked towards the bed, where Arwen had clearly decided that none of them were significant enough for her to waste her energy on, and was fast asleep.

It took too long for Arwen to get well enough to get up and walk about.

Kilithnîl was as rude as ever, making certain to comment on her slow recovery, and how if she was an elf she wouldn't even have felt it.

Legolas was in and out of her infirmary, which was becoming somewhat of a tourist attraction to curious Elvenfolk wishing to see the local captive Arwenbeast.

Tom was a saint, attending her every need like a fussy mother.

Although it served to increase Arwen's deep-rooted affection for him, Tom also became more and more obsessed with finding a way back home, back to safety. He missed it, missed Kate. Despite the many objections Arwen had to the girl's personality and general existence, she got it. Ish. Never having had a particularly serious boyfriend meant the only boy she was really attached to was Tom, so her sympathies could only go so far.

Soon, her leg was almost completely healed, three thick scars running down her leg that were going to be _very_ difficult to explain.

She went back to the seamstresses room when Tom was out, probably mucking out the stables or some such disgusting task. Kilithnîl enjoyed making his life difficult, and he complained to an extent that Arwen had formulated a little payback plan for the Crown Prince.

But first, the seamstress.

She looked up when Arwen came in, needles sticking out of her hair and ribbons draped over her pointed ears.

"Ah." Her voice was less than pleasant, and she didn't curtsey, which Arwen knew she would've done for any other handmaidens of the Princess - which, in all fairness, she hadn't really been, since it had taken two weeks for Arwen's body to rid itself of the poison and recover. In that time she had not returned to the Elven Court. She made a mental note to apologise to the Princess, who she liked a damn sight more than her brothers.

"What can I do for you?"

Arwen fiddled with the end of her long French plait.

"I'd like clothes that I can run in, please."

She said it as politely as she could, knowing that anything less would do her no favours.

"Very well."

The seamstress turned and dove into a pile of clothes, pulling out a long, white band, a tunic and three quarter lengths. She bent down and measured Arwen's feet, selected some thick stockings and a pair of soft leather boots.

"Thanks." Arwen took them gratefully and went behind the screen. She stripped off the dress with relish, changing into her new clothes. The club clothes were left in one of the small rooms on the upper level that had been designated as Toms, but she stayed with him more than she stayed in her own room.

As she left, now far more comfortable and mobile, she ran into Legolas.

He stared at her.

"What are you wearing?!"

Arwen gave him a grin and twirled.

"Isn't it fabulous?"

His nostrils flared, and she skipped past him, savouring the look of astonishment on his face.

"Where are you going?" He called after her.

"Mars," she replied, picking up her pace and leaving him far behind.

Arwen had seen little of the Woodland Realm, trapped inside the infirmary and a prison cell for the majority of the two weeks they'd been there.

Now it was late afternoon, and the setting sun turned the inside of the Realm orange and dusky pink. There were paths that connected one area to another, reminding Arwen of the spaghetti junctions back home, except these were far more ornate and devoid of traffic. - In fact, there was no one about. No one except Legolas, and he had a tendency to be where other people were not. She paused for breath, disorientated. Everything looked the same.

"Lost?"

It was Legolas.

"Stalker much?"

He laughed.

"You are not my prey, mortal."

"Then why were you following me?" she demanded hotly, hands on hips.

"I do not know where Mars is, and I assumed you didn't either."

"I'm not lost," defended Arwen, feeling like a petulant child.

Legolas smirked.

"Just without direction or knowledge of where you are."

"I'm not lost," she repeated mulishly, and started running again, the soft boots much more comfortable than trainers, and with some kind of interior support system that stopped her ankles from collapsing. Perhaps the Elves weren't as primitive as she'd first thought.

Legolas kept pace with her easily, not even breaking into a sweat. Arwen's lungs burned and still she pushed on, taking random turns and stairwells to try and shake him off. Then her leg began to throb, and she stopped.

Legolas gave her a look.

"Shut up, Blondie," she snarled, shaking out her leg to relive the cramps before running again. In a trice, Legolas was in front of her.

"Move," she spat.

"You're not going down there." he said bluntly, and she scowled.

"What are you, my mother?"

She knew she was being unreasonable, but leg pain and her frazzled temper wore off the usual tolerance.

He sniffed her. Her eyes rounded, and she stumbled back.

"What are you doing?!"

"Trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for your behaviour," he replied nonchalantly.

Arwen realised what he was suggesting, and turned red.

"You pig!"

He thought he was on her period!

Then he did the unexpected; threw his head back and laughed.

Arwen was speechless.

He managed to straighten his features.

"They're having a party. You're not invited."

Arwen humphed.

"Whatever."

"What's more, my brother's down there."

"You mean Kilithnîl?" Arwen asked.

Legolas nodded.

"And you do not want to be near him when he is drunk. Stay with your mate tonight."

Arwen didn't even bother correcting him.

"How did you know about the rooms? she asked.

Legolas' lip curled back disdainfully.

"I can smell his scent all over you."

Seriously weirded out, Arwen gestured to Legolas to guide her back to her room - not that she was lost, of course. Just in the need of a few directions.


	9. Chapter 9 - A Little Chaos

Chapter 9 ~ A Little Chaos

Arwen was asleep by the time Tom came in, exhausted from serving a very, very drunk Kilithnîl more ale and wine - a task easier said than done. He did not even bother to change before sliding into bed, wrangling a bit of duvet back from the cocooned Arwen, who slept as peacefully as if she was back home in his bed, not thousands of miles away in a world that shouldn't exist.

He sighed, and the breath of air on her face woke Arwen, who mumbled a sleepy hello.

"You know, we're going to have to come up with a reason why and where we disappeared when we come back."

Arwen wrinkled her face up.

"Why'd you have to bring that up now?"

"Our mums are gonna be furious," realised Tom, as if he hadn't heard her. "Kate's definitely going to dump me."

"Well, on the bright side -" began Arwen, and squeaked when Tom swatted her.

"You never liked her anyway, I know."

"I was actually going to say," began Arwen indignantly, but was interrupted by Tom.

"Uhuh. Sure."

"Well, you never know. Maybe it's like Narnia, and we won't age a day and nothing will have changed."

Tom scoffed.

"Pigs fly."

Arwen nodded solemnly.

"Oh they do. Regularly."

"Idiot."

"I learn from the best."

She smiled sweetly at him, and Tom let his head drop on the pillow, muffling his incredulous laugh.

"I hate that Prince," he said after a moment. "Douchebag has just reached a new level."

"Tell all the She-Elves he has an STD?" Arwen suggested.

Tom chuckled.

"Or make his bed with cowpats?"

"Oh I like it!" Arwen clapped her hands together delightedly.

Arwen clambered over Tom.

"You're not serious?!"

She gave him a wicked grin.

"Always."

"We'll get caught!"

He was following her already, just like she knew he would.

"They're all at the feast! No one's gonna see us!"

She grabbed his hand, pulling him out onto the moonlit path.

"You're insane."

"I assume you know the way to his chambers?"

"To the stables first."

Arwen laughed, high on anticipation and adrenaline.

Tom led them almost expertly. They had to retrace their steps a couple of times, but within ten minutes they had arrived at the stables. Tom handed her a bucket and went to the big pile of dung in the corner waiting to be wheeled away.

They filled their buckets, and Tom took them to Kilithnîl's bedchambers. The guard outside was asleep, a bottle of something in his hand. This night was clearly a night of celebration.

Tom lingered outside the door to the main chamber.

"He'll smell my scent," he said reluctantly.

Arwen understood and took the bucket, leaving the door open so he could see what she was doing.

Depending on how well he took it, Kilithnîl could seriously mess Tom up, whereas he was more likely (she hoped) not to kill Arwen. Still, hopefully the dung would cover up their scents.

She pulled off the duvet and got to work, spreading the dung evenly across the top sheet. The stench was so bad she had to press his duvet to her mouth and nose. It smelled _amazing_ , and Arwen was so thankful for the darkness in the room hiding her blush. Oh man, did that smell good.

Tom hissed her name from the corner, and she threw the duvet over the dung, grabbing the now empty buckets and leaving.

They were accosted on the way out by a gorgeous She-Elf. Tom gawked at her.

"What are you doing?" she hissed, then her eyes widened as she smelt the air. "Is that -"

"His highness's treatment," said Arwen smoothly.

The She-Elf took a few steps back.

"Treatment for what?!"

She was _so_ pretty, Arwen thought jealously. Probably why she was lurking outside Kilithnîl's bedroom.

She pulled a regretful face, and gestured vaguely down below, hoping the Elf would get the gist. Boy oh boy was Kilithnîl going to be mad. It served him right.

She didn't need any further elaboration, and fled.

Tom stared after her moonily.

"Hey." she rounded on him. "Snap out of it, buster."

He stared at her, mouth falling open.

"Did you just -"

Her eyes crinkled at the corners, and laughter began to shake her body.

"Yep."

"You are _so_ evil!"

They both lost it. Arwen had tears streaming down her cheeks, and Tom was nearly crippled from the pain in his stomach as he gasped in air to try and calm himself.

They locked themselves in the room that night, and slept soundly until the roars of Kilithnîl shook the very foundations of the Realm.

He had been so drunk that he had not realised what he was lying in was dung until the smell had woken him in the morning. He was covered, and had to be drenched in water and his room utterly cleared then sprayed with lavender to try and cover the repulsive smell.

Fortunately for Arwen and Tom, their scents were washed away before the finger could be pointed. That did not stop them staying into their room until quite late in the day, when they were sure that they would not be disemboweled by an angry Elf Prince.

 **Hi, I'm back after an inexcusably long absence. I'm trying to publish a book at the moment, so got very wrapped up with all of that. Luckily, I can now devote more time to this, so updates should be weekly.**

 **Once again, so sorry :)**

 **Kailee xx**


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